Father, Forgive Me
by Inks Inc
Summary: "Letting out a jaded sigh, he closed his eyes so tight they burned and breathed deeply. This was to be no routine house call, no pleasant social nicety. He hadn't graced that doorstep in…many, many years." The first to apologise is the bravest. The first to forgive is the happiest. The first to forget is the strongest. But can it be done? Jackson/Gibbs Father/Son. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

The car was warm as the unmerciful rain lashed against the windows. He squinted through the onslaught and saw that, to his complete lack of surprise, not a thing had changed. He gripped the steering wheel tight, the knuckles that were protruding through as white as his ashen face. His stomach gurgled unpleasantly as he sat motionless, the car idling around him. Letting out a jaded sigh, he closed his eyes so tight they burned and breathed deeply. This was to be no routine house call, no pleasant social nicety. He hadn't graced that doorstep in…many, many years. The familiar guilt all rolled up in a fat layer of anger reared its ugly head as he tried to gather his thoughts. He had thought the long drive to his destination would have provided adequate time to think about what to say.

He was wrong.

He was very wrong.

When he threw open the door, the familiar sights and smells of his troubled adolescence hit him like a freight truck skidding frantically off a freeway. He blinked in the downpour, memories, fast and hard flooding him like an unstoppable dam. He saw in the corner of his eye, the bench where he'd first met…her. His gut did an unpleasant turn as he turned his back on the best bench he'd ever witnessed in his entire life. The white picket fences, even in the torrential weather, were the personification of the American dream. Everything that had been sacrificed for him seemed to shimmer accusingly in those short, wooden spikes.

He ran a hand over them as he moved slowly forward.

A small but sad smile threatened at the corner of his lips.

They were still sanded down every year and repainted.

He opened the gate and heard its familiar squeak down in his very core. He had wanted to oil the hinges so it would go away, but his mother…for some reason his mother had loved it. And so the squeak remained and as he walked up the flagged stone path, he was glad. The door was as he always remembered, always open but never opened. His eyes fell down over the years of regret they had born witness to. The last conversation that he'd ever had on the porch he stood upon bellowed in his ear drums as the sharp knife of regret twisted in his gut.

That knife twisted even deeper when he remembered that this visit had to be forced upon him.

If it were left up to him alone, he knew he would have left it until it was irrevocably too late.

He knocked a sombre knock, not his usual impatient rap and found himself holding his breath like some class of an imbecile. Exhaling slowly, shaking his head at his own histrionics, he waited in mounting trepidation. A part of him and no small part at that…wished the door would never open. Wished the solid wooden frame of his youth, that he had slammed more times than he cared to admit, would stand resolute against him. Because then…then it wasn't his fault. He'd tried, failed and could go home to lick his wounds in peace.

With copious alcohol to boot.

But that was not to be, because that door did swing open and the man behind it couldn't disguise his shock. The two stared at each other, droplets of rain felling hard and fast from his sodden hair, neither speaking. The wind whistled between them as they continued to stare into their likened features. Eventually, the homeowner surmounted his shock and raised a brow, opening the door wider still.

"Jethro."

The visitor smiled a painfully poignant smile as emotions exploded like dynamite within him.

"Dad."

….

A/N: This is from a request on another story, looking for a take on the Gibbs/Jackson relationship and all the regrets that are there! It struck me as a really interesting idea! It'll go from here.

_Inks

…..


	2. Chapter 2

"Well? Can I come in?"

Jackson raised a brow and looked at the door with pursed lips. "This door has never been closed to you Leroy, not in the last decade and not now." He threw it wide open. "So why don't you come on in. If you can't remember where anything is, I understand, it's been a long time. You just go ahead and ask." Gibbs bit back a habitually scathing retort with a small and muffled sigh. He watched as his father turned on his heel and stalked off down the hall, heading to the small kitchen at the back of the house, to no doubt put the same beat up old kettle on to boil. Wiping his feet on the mat slowly, he stepped inside and breathed deeply. His eyes shut of their own accord as the scents of his childhood soared down his nasal passages.

He could practically taste his mom's Sunday roast.

He quickly pushed that memory away.

The kitchen was the exact same. Literally, the exact same. The same willow patterned plates sat on the dresser, the same cracked but sentimental salt and pepper shakers stood on the counter and the same cloth adorned the small table. Gibbs pulled out a chair and sat awkwardly down as his father busied himself making the tea they both knew he wouldn't drink. Silence pressed between them. In a more traditional scenario, there would be questions, Gibbs supposed. But he and his father weren't the traditional scenario. There was years of silence between them. There was years of birthdays and Christmases, of silent phones and empty mail boxes. Somehow, "so how have you been doing?" just wasn't going to cut it.

Gibbs accepted the proffered mug with a silent nod of thanks.

He watched as Jackson pulled out the chair opposite him and sat heavily. "So," the elder Gibbs opened, getting straight down to business, "What's brought this on? You remembered you have a living and breathing father all of a sudden?" He took a sip of his tea, his eyes never leaving his only son. "Do you need a kidney? Is that what this is about?" He snorted. "Because if it is, you're going to have one hell of a time trying to-"

"I don't want your damned kidney."

Jackson shrugged and set his mug down. "Then what? What do you want from me Leroy? It's been so long and so quiet…I don't know what you want from me." Gibbs bit his lip and wondered the exact same thing. He wondered why he'd come, wondered what he was even hoping to achieve. It all came down to his gut. His gut was telling him that it was time. His gut and Ducky, that was. And a case. A case with some uncomfortable home truths that were buried in the mess of other people's lives. A life lesson that hadn't been his to learn but that he had learned from anyway. Father's weren't immortal. They died. They died all the damned time. There weren't any more years to waste on bitterness and silence.

"I wanted to apologise. That's what I want from you. I want you to listen."

Jackson's eyebrows rose so high and so fast they were in danger of never appearing again. He stared at his son as if he'd never seen him before. There was a certain vulnerability about him that he couldn't remember seeing since he was a kid. Since before the military had changed him, had hardened him. He cradled his mug, his aging bones aching as he moved. The paternal streak in him wanted to wave away any apologies, and offer his own in their stead. But the neglected part of him, the part of him that had wasted away in a small town with no family and aging, dying friends flared in indignation. The phone calls that were never answered, never returned, shrilled in his ears. The return to sender envelopes that remained in a dusty drawer, a mere five feet from hem, swum hazily in his mind.

Somehow…the quaint promise of apologies were not the miracle answer he'd hoped for.

"Apologise? You came here to apologise Leroy, after all these years? What makes you think I even want to hear it? What makes you think it's going to change a damned thing, or turn back a single second of time?"

Gibbs shrugged slightly, his lips twitching.

"Because you're my father," he answered simply, "And if this were another time, another world…if it were Kelly sitting across from me….I'd want to hear it." He cradled his mug and stared into the amber liquid. "I'd always want to hear it. Because…." He trailed off awkwardly, staring instead at the floor. "Because…she'd always be my daughter. No matter what she…even if we hadn't talked in a…while…."

Jackson stared.

Before sighing a mixed sigh and nodding.

"Alright Leroy. But…I think you should know something before you say anything else. I think you should hear it before you say anything, because you might not want waste your apologies on me after you know. So, are you still as bad at listening as ever or has there been any improvement on that front?" Gibbs rolled his eyes at the criticism and shrugged. "I got two ears. You need to say something, then go ahead and say it. I'm a pretty big boy now, I can handle it." Jackson snorted. "Yeah, pretty big for your boots." Sending a quailing look across the table he steeled himself, breathing in deeply. Shuffling his mug around the table slightly, he cast around his mind, trying to find the words. Gibbs felt his brows narrow as he studied his father, noting all the signs of aging that were very pronounced under the low hanging light.

"Dad?"

Jackson looked up and smiled tightly, shrugging somewhat.

There was no easy way to say it, so he might as well just come right out and say it.

"I'm getting married, Leroy."

….

A/N: Slight alteration to canon, necessary for what I want to do. Thank you to the reviewers that pointed out that Jackson always referred to Gibbs as Leroy. That is correct! I've altered it from here on in to reflect that! J

_Inks

…..


	3. Chapter 3

"Are you medicated?"

Sighing at his son's less than enthusiastic response, Jackson shook his head. "No, Leroy, I am not medicated. If I were, you wouldn't know it of course, so thanks for asking. I'm perfectly sound in both body and mind and I'm getting married. I would have sent an invite, but with all this push for recycling these days, I thought it would be wasteful to generate garbage for your trash can." Folding his legs and throwing a pointed glance over the table, he quirked a brow. "So, what do you got to say about it?"

Gibbs uncharacteristically gaped.

"Married? At your age? Have you lost your mind?"

Pursing his lips, Jackson stared reprovingly. "I don't really think you're in that much of a position to discuss the impropriety of old men and successive marriages." Gibbs' eyes widened. "I am _not_ an old man," he snapped, "You on the other hand…" Jackson scoffed. "Well you're not exactly a young man, are you? And I'd like to say that at least your marriages were worth it, but I wouldn't know. I never even met half the Mrs Gibbs' that are roaming around out there." The air between them suddenly became laden down with tension as the father and son glared at each other.

"You've forgotten mom existed or something?"

Little droplets of rage were beginning to drip from Jackson's hairline but he managed to hold his temper, but only just. "No more than you forgot about Shannon when you married red head number two, number three, number…gee, how many was it in total?" Gibbs' teeth gnashed together in ire. "That's completely different," he spat, "It's-"

"The exact same," Jackson interrupted smoothly. "Anyhow, I don't have to explain my actions or my decisions to you. The wedding is in two months so lord knows you'll be as far away from here as you can possibly get by then, and your next visit will be for my funeral." He levelled a glare. "Assuming of course that such an event doesn't clash with your busy work schedule." Scrubbing a hand across his face, Gibbs swallowed back a retort he knew he could never unsay. "Something you need to get of your chest, _dad?_ Is there something you need to say?"

Jackson threw his head back in disgruntlement.

"You sure you got enough time off the clock to listen to anything I got to say, Leroy?"

Scoffing, Gibbs threw his arms out to the room at large. "I'm here aren't I?!"

"Should I be down on bended knee thanking god for the honour of a visit from my own _son?"_

Closing his eyes slowly, the junior component in the room strove to control himself. He knew this visit was going to be bad but it was turning out worse than he thought. His dad getting married? Was the world upside down, spinning into nothingness? The man was a hundred years old, he ought to be playing checkers and shrieking about wars no one remembered. _Married?_ It was frigging ludicrous. He silently and effectively cursed Ducky out in his mind. If it wasn't for him and his _words,_ he wouldn't even be here. He'd be happily working, doing something he was good at. He was not good at visits and chats. He sucked at visits and chats, and he'd gotten no better at it as the years had gone on, if the look on his father's face was anything to go by.

"You know where I live as well, you know. I haven't moved. I'm still there."

A sudden shot of sadness crossed over Jackson's face.

"You're still there in more ways than you know, son."

Not sure how to take that, Gibbs chose to simply ignore it. Breathing deeply, he strove to right the sinking ship. "So…who's the lucky lady then?" he asked grudgingly, "I hope she isn't a golddigger." He glanced around the room. "Because this place is falling apart." Glaring, Jackson shrugged. "Well I ain't all that young anymore Leroy. And I don't got the sort of son that comes to visit every weekend for a few cold ones and house repairs. There's a nice young lad down the street. Mrs Henderson's grandson. He's twenty six and just finished law school. A nice kid, he helps me out some when he can."

Gibbs threw his eyes up to heaven.

"I hate lawyers."

Jackson shrugged.

"I'm sure the profession as a whole, weeps."

Running a hand through his hair in frustration, Gibbs once again struggled to get on top of his temper. Maybe a change of subject would help some. Casting around for suitable fodder, he was interrupted. "Why don't you tell me why you're here, Leroy?" Jackson asked, straight to the point, a trait he'd handed down. "You didn't come here to talk about marriage plans and the kid next door. You came for a reason, so why don't you tell me what that reason is. If you're looking for a kidney or something, you can have one, but if you're looking for a fight…you can leave."

Gibbs blinked.

"I don't want a kidney."

Jackson nodded.

"Slice of my liver? A loan? A crash course in small store management? What, what is it?"

Groaning inwardly, Gibbs threw his hands in the air. "You moan and groan because I don't come and visit, and when I do, you try and shove vital organs down my damned throat. Can't I just call down because I want to call down? Does there have to be an ulterior motive behind everything?" Raising a brow at the attempted redirect, Jackson nodded. "In most situations there wouldn't need to be an ulterior motive behind everything. But I don't think you could call us, most situations. You cut me off without word or signal after Shannon and Kelly and I still don't know why. You can't just waltz back into this house over a decade later and expect to play happy families. We're not the flaming Brady Bunch."

Gibbs couldn't help it, he was on his feet.

"For no reason?" he snarled, "Are you actually senile?"

Jackson was a little slower, but he too was on his feet.

"The hell are you talking about?"

Gibbs saw the red mist descend and dance in front of his eyes.

"I'm talking about the fact that you used my wife and daughter's funeral as a means to bring whatever tart you were with at the time, on a romantic day out. That's what the hell I'm talking about!"

….

TBC

…


	4. Chapter 4

Jackson's mouth went slack with shock as he stared at the heaving chest and fiery expression of his only son. He was struck speechless as his brain scrambled to keep pace with his ears. Gibbs was making no effort to elaborate or expand upon the situation as he watched the differing shades of confusion flit over his father's face. That confusion angered him even further. Was the old man seriously trying to play dumb? Only a complete ignoramus wouldn't comprehend that what he'd done was the lowest of the low. Jackson Gibbs was a lot of things, but he wasn't a complete ignoramus. The younger man's nostrils flared as his father stared at him in a pool of nonplussed disquiet.

"You really don't see the problem with using my girls' funeral as a pick up party?"

Jackson felt the first of would what be many tongues of anger lick him.

"Is that why you've cut me off for the last decade…more, even? Is that the _reason_?"

The crack of Gibbs' fist slamming down upon the table startled the old man, but the rage that forked in the younger man was too intense to care. He would later regret it of course, he always regretted it later, but in that moment he was being filled with latent rage. "Isn't it a good enough reason?" he spat. "You know what I needed that day _dad?_ I needed my damn father. And what I got was an old timer and his two-time tart at the graveside of my wife and daughter. You didn't even introduce her. Why was that? Didn't know her name?"

Jackson slowly stood, his smaller stature not making him any the less an imposing figure.

"How dare you."

Gibbs sprung to his feet, positively vibrating with rage.

"How dare _I?_ Are you serious?"

"You know Leroy; this has always been your problem. You think you know everything, which is a bag enough trait in its own but when it's the trait of a person who's painfully oblivious…it's just laughable. That woman was no tart you disrespectful little…" He trailed off, sucking in some air, he needed to calm down and he knew it but it was difficult with the belligerence that was being directed at him with abandon. "That woman was a very good _friend_ of mine. Not that you'd know her, because you never bothered to answer the damn phone even _before_ the girls…well, before. That woman was Elizabeth. She was a very dear friend to me after your mother…well, after she left. And then after she was gone. Did it ever occur to you Leroy that I was getting older and older and lonelier and lonelier? Did it ever occur to you to think about what someone else needed?"

He wiped a hand across his throbbing eyes.

"I couldn't face the funeral alone, ok? Those girls…Kelly, Shannon…they were everything to me. They were the best thing you've ever done. The best thing that ever happened to you. I couldn't bear to go alone and I couldn't bear to see the look I knew would be in your eyes without someone I cared for by my side. She wasn't a date. How could you even think that, how you could even begin to think that…" He sighed and sat down with a slumping thump. Gibbs slowly mirrored his actions, his limbs stiff. The pain of the day under discussion was coming back thick and fierce and Jackson swiped away the beginnings of glistening moist in his eyes with embarrassment. Gibbs caught the action and felt a sudden, acidic stab of guilt.

"There was a time in my life when I had no-one but Elizabeth. A real long time. You were…disinterested, your mother….even more so. My best friend in the world…not my best friend in the world. I was left alone with a store I had no damn interest in any more. A house that was too big and filled with memories I didn't want to think about. I needed a friend, Leroy, can't you see that? Maybe you can't. You never did too well with friends. But we're chalk and cheese, as always."

He looked up from the checkered tablecloth and looked at his only son with a deafening sadness.

"She was there for me at a time when no-one else was. She's gone now, rest her. But she was there for me on one of the toughest days of my life. And you know what made it even tougher? A part of me knew you were going to lash out. If it wasn't being with Elizabeth, it would have been the tie I was wearing. You needed a cause, a reason, anything. Anything to cut me off because you didn't want to admit that I was the only family you had left. Well guess what son, you can't run away from that fact anymore. I'm it, Leroy, just me. We've wasted the last ten years of each other's lives by being stupid old men. I don't have it in me anymore. You think I wasn't pissed that every time I would call there would be no answer. Even the time I came all the way out there, you were at home but you wouldn't answer the door. And me not knowing why? Not knowing that you could possibly take such offence to my needing a shoulder as well, when I buried my daughter in law and granddaughter? But…time is short son. Real short."

His eyes, so like Gibbs', were glistening once more.

"I want to make the most of whatever time we have left. You of all people know that life can be cruelly short. Whatever happened between your mother and I, she would have hated this. What we've become. You were her pride and her joy and she would have wanted you to be as happy as you could be. It might be news to you, but most people are happier with some sort of decent relationship with their father in their lives. I get… _trust me_ , I get that you are about as far away from "most people" as it's possible to get. But, I'd like to try anyway…damnit, I'd like to try. I need to try. I guess I knew one day you'd come and explain what the hell went wrong all those years ago. I can't say I'm impressed with the reason, but I wanna let bygones be bygones, son. I want you in my life…and in my wedding."

He locked gazes with his biggest joy and most heartfelt regret.

"So…what do you say?"

Gibbs swallowed with great difficulty and opened his mouth with intense hesitation. His words here were a defining moment and he knew it. The course of whatever time left he had with his father would be dictated by these words and for someone who was allergic to words, it was a daunting prospect. His speech needed to be honest and sincere, have some sort of meaning and-

"Can I use your can?"

…

TBC

…


	5. Chapter 5

Looking up as his pale son re-entered the room slowly, Jackson stared quietly. His heart was heavy when he realised in that moment, more acutely than ever, that he didn't know his own flesh and blood. Didn't know what made him tick, or what ticked him off. He watched as Leroy sat down shakily at the table, and wipe the corner of his mouth with the cuff of his shirt. He wondered briefly had he been sick. "I shouldn't have been such an ass," he said quietly, suddenly interrupting his reverie. He focussed his gaze on his son, who looked like it was taking every ounce of effort possessed to keep his mouth moving. "I should've explained what my problem was, but you're right, I was angry and you were an easy target. I needed to explode and you were there."

Jackson felt his mouth fall open, but Gibbs rushed on, needing to get it out.

"I ain't getting any younger, and you definitely aren't getting any younger. With everything going on back home, with…the job and the things I see, I know how easy it is to take things for granted." He forced himself to look his father in the eye. "I don't want to take the fact you're alive and well for granted any more. I was an ass, I know that. I'm…" he swallowed, preparing to break one of his cardinal rules. "I'm sorry, ok? I'm sorry. I've never gotten over Kelly and Shannon and I never will, but I know if she were alive, Shannon would have had my guts for garters for how things have been between us. I can't pretend that I'm thrilled you're marrying someone I don't know, but I only have myself to blame for that. I guess the only way I'm going to get to know her, is if I stick around a while."

He trailed off; clearly evaluating the decision he'd spent the last half hour in the bathroom making.

"I guess I'm wondering, if it's ok with you, could I uhh…stay here, rack here…for a bit?"

Staring with a slack jaw, Jackson's brain keened under the pressure of the truths that were being flung across the table. The letter, protruding from the under the straw table mat in the centre of the old tabletop, caught the corner of his eye. Swallowing, he felt his eyes glass over as the decision _he_ had made in Leroy's half an hour bathroom hold out suddenly seemed impossible. Surreptitiously, he pushed the protruding corner back under the table mat, obscuring it from view. Standing, he nodded with emotion pouring from every pore. "That's the best news I've heard in a very long time, son, the very best news." He hesitated, wondering if he was pushing his luck, but deciding to go through with it any way.

"I know it's not something we do, but given the circumstances, you got a hug for your old man?"

Snorting sheepishly, Gibbs nodded and standing, he crossed the room in two steps. It had been a long, long time since he'd embraced his own father and he couldn't deny the well of emotion that erupted as the familiar smell of soap and old spice wafted up his nose. Closing his eyes, he was taken back decade after decade and to mistake after mistake. Resolving then and there to not waste any more time, he knew he would make an effort to get on with this woman, to be a better son. Releasing his father with a slight smile, he murmured something about getting a bag from the car. Nodding and watching the strong back of his only son retreat down the garden path, the sunlight biting at his heels, an impossible sadness broke over Jackson. Snaring the letter from its hiding place, he quickly ran it under the tap and let it disintegrate into the garbage disposal.

By the time Leroy came back in, he was pottering with a fresh pot of coffee. Listening to his son's easy chatter about his newest woodworking project, a direct attempt to lessen the serious atmosphere, he was just pouring two hot mugs when the garbage disposal gave a coughing splutter. Waving away Gibbs' instant offer of having a look, he set the mugs down and instantly pocketed the piece of paper that was causing the disposal such trouble. He hoped he had done it subtly, but he was rusty on the extent of his son's sharp eye and investigative skills. It was with no regrets that he stood and reaching over the table, yanked the sodden paper from his father's shirt pocket. It was sodden and torn but it was legible.

Ignoring Jackson's warning shout, he read quickly and felt his soul turn to stone. The department of oncology at the local hospital certainly didn't mince their words, or their billing practices. His eyes flew across the paper, to the complete indifference of Jackson's hollering and feeble attempts to retrieve the wet letter. Letting it slump to the table with a soggy thwack, Gibbs stared down at it with bile rising in his throat. His eyes roved over Jackson then and he kicked himself. It was obvious, so obvious, even with natural aging. His eyes were shrunken, his shirt hung much too loosely at the neck. There was a targeted IV line marker tattooed on his neck, barely noticeable, but there if you were looking. Gibbs closed his eyes for a moment, trying to block it out, but some facts are never meant to be blocked out. He felt the colour drain from his face when he opened his eyes once more and saw the tears shining in his father's eyes, regrets of the years gone passed burning in the salty droplets. Both his regrets and his son's. Shaking his head, Gibbs rose from the table and crossed back to Jackson. He knew he was too late, that he had left it too late. So all that mattered now, is what he _did_ now.

"I'm moving in here. I'll be with you till the last. You have my word, dad, my word."

….

FIN

….


End file.
